


how to break a revolutionary

by mybelovedcheshire



Series: La Maison de l'ABC [6]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, also pancakes, depiction of D/s relationship, loads of vaguely poetic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Combeferre's curiosity gets the better of him. Strangely -- it's Enjolras who has to pay the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to break a revolutionary

They lived in a house that was never truly quiet. No one kept the same hours. By the time Grantaire finally passed out, Feuilly was one his way to work. Combeferre was just waking up, but Courfeyrac and Bossuet and Bahorel wouldn’t be heard from for hours. 

Enjolras didn’t sleep very much, but comparatively, he and Jehan had a tendency to stay up far, far later than most. 

“Do you even know how to make pancakes?” He asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as he folded his arms across his bare chest. Jehan pranced around him, gathering up ingredients. 

They’d snuck downstairs in just their pyjama pants -- Enjolras’s were a loose, stretchy grey material that rode low on his hips; Jehan’s were a soft, airy cotton with a bright floral pattern -- because Jehan had mentioned that he was hungry, and what better time to have breakfast than at three o’clock in the morning when almost everyone else was in bed? 

The little poet pushed him out of the way, shoving flour, sugar and a full bag of chocolate chips onto the countertop where Enjolras had been standing. “We have cookbooks,” he answered dismissively. “It’s not that hard.”

Enjolras smiled. 

Jehan tossed his long, messy hair over his shoulder and looked up. 

“It won’t be a disaster, I guess,” Enjolras commented, referring to the fact that Bossuet wasn’t with them. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how many things would -- inevitably -- have gone terribly, terribly wrong. 

There would have been a fire, certainly -- lots and lots of potentially house-threatening fire. 

Jehan laid out pans and mixing bowls carefully. It was universally acknowledged by everyone who lived there that a little noise at odd hours was okay, but there honestly wasn’t much chance of anyone hearing them. No one but Eponine slept on the first floor, and she wasn’t home. Still -- there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. Feuilly’s room was on the third floor, but he was a very light sleeper. 

“Get me the eggs and milk,” Jehan instructed.

Enjolras uncurled and fetched them. 

From then on, they worked in a relaxed, synchronised silence. Jehan would point when he needed something, and Enjolras would get it without hesitation. He poured ingredients until Jehan told him to stop; he mixed when Jehan handed him a bowl. He pulled down a plate, and found silverware while Jehan deftly flipped and flipped and flipped with such confidence that Enjolras suspected he did this sort of thing a lot more frequently than he’d originally let on. 

It wasn’t long before they’d amassed a large stack of pancakes just dripping with syrup and butter. (And chocolate -- because Jehan had insisted that the chips absolutely _were_ necessary.) 

They smiled as they ate, splitting the one plate between them. 

It was a testament to their friendship that they could do this kind of thing. That they could roll out of bed (the same bed, as it happened), tumble downstairs, and share a 3AM snack while nonchalantly teasing each other was fairly impressive, but they made it feel innocent. 

It was almost as if one of them hadn’t just had something significantly hotter than pancakes in his mouth. 

But that was the whole point, really. Regardless of what happened behind closed doors -- or on kitchen counters at three in the morning -- friendship was the keystone. Sincere and non-judgemental friendship was the core of what they shared. 

Of course, they’d both have been lying if they said they weren’t very, very fond of those behind-doors extras.

Jehan’s thoughts were the first to go back to what they were doing before they’d come downstairs. Enjolras licked his lips and pushed the plate aside -- even between the two of them, they couldn’t finish the whole stack -- but Jehan’s eyes had locked on the syrup bottle sitting next to them. 

Enjolras followed his gaze. 

Jehan smirked and reached for the bottle just as Enjolras muttered: “Oh, no...”

“Mmm, yes,” the little poet replied, opening the cap. 

Neither of them heard the creak of the stairs, or the quiet shuffle of someone approaching. Jehan pinned Enjolras against the counter, pressing their hips together very deliberately as he tipped the syrup upside down and threateningly held it over Enjolras’s chest. 

Combeferre rounded the corner and stopped short. 

Enjolras looked up sharply -- just as Combeferre’s eyes dragged from Jehan’s back, to Enjolras’s face, and then jumped very suddenly to the nearest wall. Enjolras grabbed Jehan by the hips, abruptly shifting him to the side. 

“Hey,” he said immediately. Jehan languidly turned around, pushing the syrup bottle back onto the counter behind them. “Did we wake you?”

He doubted it. Honestly, they couldn’t have, because Combeferre would never have come downstairs if he’d known the kitchen was occupied.

Combeferre shook his head, but didn’t look away from a photograph hanging on the wall just to his left. It was a picture Feuilly had taken -- something lovely, certainly, but it had been there for years. If he moved it an inch to the side, there would have been a discoloured square on the wall to show where it had been. 

Still -- he stoically pretended to be captivated as he answered: “No, I just wanted water.”

Guilt tugged at Enjolras’s conscience -- guilt and annoyance at his own startling lack of self-awareness. His mouth twisted into an apologetic grimace as he reached for a cup. 

Somewhat awkwardly, Combeferre was one of the few people who knew the full extent and nature of his relationship with Jehan. Enjolras couldn’t hide things from him (not that he ever really wanted to), and no one knew him better. But Combeferre was also the only person who routinely went out of his way to avoid intruding on couples’ -- or anyone’s, really -- private time. 

It wasn’t easy in a house like theirs, where the inhabitants insisted on shagging each other in increasingly public ways. 

But he still tried. 

Jehan hopped up on the counter. “Morning, ‘Ferre,” he greeted in that sweet, comforting way of his. 

“Morning,” Combeferre replied without looking at him. Enjolras handed over a full glass of water. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

Enjolras’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you want pancakes?” Jehan offered. 

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder at the little poet, who was watching Combeferre’s retreat with a curious expression. 

Evidently Enjolras wasn’t the only one who felt that something was not quite right. 

Combeferre was halfway to the stairs, but he paused. “What?”

Jehan nodded in the direction of the plate and clarified: “We made pancakes. But we made too many -- we couldn’t finish them. Would you like some?”

“They’re chocolate chip,” Enjolras murmured under his breath. Jehan scowled. 

Combeferre blinked slowly. Generally he was quite quick on the draw, but -- “It’s three in the morning.”

It was half past, actually -- but Jehan and Enjolras both smiled. 

“No,” Combeferre answered. “Thank you, though.” He seemed uncharacteristically eager to get away from them. 

He avoided interrupting -- he didn’t suddenly become shy. Or was he annoyed? Enjolras couldn’t quite tell, and that was distressing. 

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked bluntly. Perhaps it was a stupid question -- Combeferre had just walked in on two half-naked men about to kiss each other senseless. 

But Combeferre was always so calm about that. It was a necessity when living in the same house as Courfeyrac. He would smiled and shake his head and slowly slip away. 

Combeferre shifted uncomfortably. “Just tired,” he replied. “Good night.”

But before he could turn away again, Jehan called out: “You could stay with us.”

Enjolras glanced at Jehan again. 

But Combeferre was frozen in place.

Jehan smirked. 

Enjolras slowly turned back to Combeferre -- who looked incredibly guilty. “... _oh_.”

***

Jehan was too cheerful as he locked the door behind them. Combeferre stood in the middle of the room with an uneasy expression. He’d tried to explain as Jehan pushed him up the stairs -- tried to find an excuse for his hesitation, for why he should go back to bed, for why he’d even nodded in the first place. But Enjolras and Jehan weren’t listening.

In some ways that was good. If Combeferre was honest with himself -- which he tried to be -- even he didn’t fully understand why he’d wanted wanted to come with them. 

He only knew that he did. 

He only knew that sometimes -- sometimes, he just caught himself staring for no reason. There was no logic in it. He had no justification for being attracted to Jehan -- he was hardly attracted to anyone -- and yet... 

Jehan was beautiful. He was beautiful, and brilliant, and bold, and soft all at once -- and maybe that was captivating. 

And Jehan had somehow, almost inexplicably ensnared Enjolras.

Combeferre couldn’t deny that he wanted to know how.

Enjolras stood next to his bed with an impassive expression. 

He looked stoic, but he didn’t feel it. He was actually fairly worried -- just not for Combeferre’s sake. The two people that he trusted most were standing on either side of him.

Those two people were unwaveringly dominant influences in his life. 

The very thought made him shiver.

Combeferre took a deep breath. “I don’t--”

“You two should kiss,” Jehan told him, cutting him off. He hopped into Enjolras’s bed and pulled his knees up to his chest as he watched them. “Go on.” He was more excited at the prospect than he was letting on. 

Combeferre and Enjolras both glanced at him. 

Jehan rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you do it before, you know.”

There was a hint of sarcasm in Enjolras’s smile. “Yes, but that’s a slightly different context.” Combeferre made a quiet noise of agreement. 

Jehan fixed him with an unsettling smirk. “I don’t care what the context is. _Kiss him._ ”

Enjolras turned to face Combeferre immediately. Jehan’s tone had changed -- he wasn’t making a suggestion. 

Combeferre’s eyes widened slightly. Jehan’s assertiveness had no effect on him, but he was fascinated by how quickly Enjolras had responded. It was actually enough to make him forget his own concerns for a moment. 

“Are you always like this?” He asked gently. There was nothing judgemental in his expression, or his voice -- only curiosity. 

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer-- but Jehan interrupted. 

“I hope you’re planning on using that mouth for something other than _talking_.” He was still authoritative, but he sounded vaguely amused. 

Enjolras gave his best friend an apologetic smile and leaned in, kissing him softly. 

It was warm, and open, and gentle. Combeferre returned his smile, and his kiss -- as Jehan had said, they’d done this before. They’d done this frequently, actually -- and it was every bit as relaxing as Jehan had thought it might be. 

Jehan beamed as they took a step closer to each other. 

Combeferre rested his hands on Enjolras’s hips. Enjolras gripped Combeferre’s arms. The trust they had in each other was almost tangible, and after a moment they started laughing. 

That had been Jehan’s intention all along. Combeferre had agreed to come upstairs with them -- he’d wanted to, even if he wasn’t sure why. And Jehan was thrilled, but he needed Combeferre to relax. He needed him to be comfortable -- and kissing Enjolras had done just that.

It was just so familiar to them. Enjolras reached up, cupping Combeferre’s cheek as they kissed playfully. He tugged at Combeferre’s lower lip purely for Jehan’s amusement, and it made Combeferre’s smile widen.

“Feeling better?” Jehan asked as Combeferre slowly pulled back. Enjolras rested his forehead against his best friend’s -- his eyes were closed, but his contentment was still etched in the upward curve of his lips. 

Combeferre gave a quiet huff of laughter. “A bit, yes.”

He was very grateful that they’d given him a moment to adjust -- but now he wanted to see more. With his comfort re-established, there was nothing to curb his curiosity. 

He met Jehan’s eyes and said as much with his expression. 

Jehan went from docile to devious in a matter of seconds. 

“Good.” He straightened up. “Enjolras. Put your hands behind your back.”

Enjolras’s reaction was slower that time. It was disorienting, kissing Combeferre so freely one moment, and then getting instructions from Jehan the next. Still, he crossed his wrists behind him, as he was told. 

Jehan slithered out of bed. In a soft, reassuring voice that felt so contrary to the one he used with Enjolras, he murmured to Combeferre: “Keep kissing.”

Combeferre nodded. 

He kissed Enjolras again. It was similar to the first time, but suddenly Enjolras’s breathing seem measured. The kisses hadn’t changed, but he could feel an element of tension in the way Enjolras held himself. 

Jehan pulled a silk necktie out of Enjolras’s closet. 

Combeferre kept kissing him. Enjolras’s breath actually hitched in his chest as Jehan looped the tie around his wrists and knotted it, but Combeferre didn’t relent. 

It was a matter of seconds before Enjolras’s entire bearing changed. 

His mouth softened against Combeferre’s -- every kiss was less playful, and more pleading. He didn’t pull against his new restraints -- he had no reason to test them -- but he did lean into Combeferre. 

Combeferre couldn’t help feeling intrigued. 

He dragged his hands away from Enjolras’s hips. He brushed his fingers against Enjolras’s chest before resting his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders -- only to push him back a couple of inches. 

Enjolras’s eyes opened in surprise. 

Combeferre’s didn’t. He kept going. 

They’d been in similar situations before -- where Enjolras had very desperately needed him, and Combeferre had, as a friend, done what he could. He knew what worked, and his response was almost automatic as a result. 

He kissed back harder. 

Jehan watched with delight. 

Combeferre was slightly taller than Enjolras -- only by a few inches, but it was enough for him to have an advantage. He put his own weight behind the way he pushed against Enjolras’s warm mouth, devouring every little whine that escaped. 

Enjolras was trembling. 

Combeferre was relentless. 

The kisses changed. He became demanding. Enjolras’s mouth was warm, but his was hot and heavy even though Enjolras was rapidly breaking right in front of him. He used his teeth to bite, rather than tug, and slid his tongue between Enjolras’s lips as his mouth opened with an unsteady whimper. Enjolras tried to curl into him, but Combeferre wouldn’t let him. He very deliberately held Enjolras back with one hand, and used the other to lift his chin up, crushing their mouths together. 

Enjolras’s legs buckled. 

Neither Jehan nor Combeferre made any effort to catch him as he crumpled to the floor. On his knees and panting, he keeled forward, pressing his forehead against Combeferre’s leg as he struggled to catch his breath. 

Combeferre licked his lips slowly. 

Jehan looked incredibly impressed. Something about seeing Enjolras -- their bold, fearless, often unyielding leader -- so incredibly vulnerable made his heart sing. He’d never been able to do that.

Combeferre glanced at Jehan, but gently ran his fingers through Enjolras’s curls. Enjolras practically nuzzled into his touch. 

“Are you glad you joined us?” Jehan purred. 

Combeferre smirked. He was. “Yes,” he replied. “Come here?”

Jehan stepped forward. 

Combeferre leaned down and kissed him lightly -- almost chastely, by comparison -- on the mouth. Jehan hummed his approval. 

Enjolras didn’t seem much able to move. 

Jehan kissed Combeferre on the nose, and the cheek, and very sweetly on his jaw as he reached out and brushed his fingers against the hem of Combeferre’s t-shirt. “May I take this off?”

Combeferre nodded. 

He pulled his hand away from Enjolras to raise his arms up. Jehan tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. 

“Enjolras?”

“Yes?”

“Sit up.”

Enjolras took a deep breath through his nose, opened his eyes and straightened up. 

“Are you wearing anything under these?” Jehan asked Combeferre, dragging a finger around the waistband of his sweatpants. Combeferre had hardly nodded before Jehan tugged them down as well. 

Enjolras turned his head to the side slightly so he could stare into space, and not his best friend’s striped boxers. 

“Step out of them,” Jehan told him. He tossed them off to the side as Combeferre moved. 

Left in only his underwear, Combeferre briefly wondered if he was going to be allowed to keep his boxers on. He wasn’t insecure -- he never had been really, but there was something inherently awkward about being the only naked person in a room. 

But evidently Jehan had other ideas. He took Combeferre’s hands and drew him away from Enjolras -- who looked up sharply -- towards the empty bed. Enjolras stared at the pair of them as they tumbled down on _his_ blankets. 

“Wait--”

Jehan stretched out underneath Combeferre, slowly brushing his fingers through Combeferre’s short hair as the taller man held himself up. “Would you kiss me like you just kissed Enjolras?” Jehan asked him. 

“I can try,” Combeferre answered. He glanced at Enjolras, whose expression was a mix of confusion and annoyance. “Are you going to make him sit there and watch?”

“No--”

“Enjolras,” Jehan called out. “Stop talking.”

Enjolras made an indignant noise.

Jehan wrapped a leg around Combeferre’s waist and kissed him deeply. 

It didn’t take long for Combeferre to settle against him -- to return his kisses with the same energy that he’d had before. 

Enjolras sat back on his heels and watched as his best friend methodically reduced Jehan -- Jehan of all people -- to a panting, _writhing_ mess. 

Jehan fought back. Or he tried to -- but Combeferre was quickly learning that he was quite good at unravelling his friends with just a kiss. He didn’t _need_ anything else. His hips stayed stationary -- he had no desire to drive them into the bed, or even to rutt desperately against Jehan like the little poet was doing to him. 

He just smiled. 

He let his own weight hold Jehan down, and used his mouth and his tongue and his teeth to slowly tip that mystical, sweet, lovely man over the edge of any kind of dignity. 

He was enjoying that little element far more than he ever thought he would. 

For months -- maybe more than months -- something about Jehan ensnared him. Something about the way he walked, or the shape of his mouth, or the freckles on his face -- or possibly just his ridiculously oversized jumpers? -- had caught his eye more times than he could count. He’d lost track of how often he’d caught himself staring. 

It was disconcerting. It was actually upsetting in some ways, because he’d only recently come to accept that maybe he just wasn’t like everyone else in the house -- that maybe an active interest in sex just wasn’t for him. 

And yet -- something about Jehan made him feel like his entire self-assessment was unfounded. 

Until tonight. 

Combeferre pulled back slowly, drawing out of a kiss that left Jehan dizzy. He looked up at Combeferre with a glassy-eyed, lusty expression. 

_Enjolras_ wouldn’t have escaped that look unaffected-- but it did nothing for Combeferre. 

He realised now that it wasn’t sexual attraction that had compelled him to come upstairs. 

Jehan was enchantingly lovely. Enjolras was beautiful -- he’d always known that. But he didn’t want either of them -- certainly not in the context that they very obviously wanted him. 

He was curious. He was deeply, insatiably curious about the dynamic that kept Enjolras and Jehan together. It was the unique nature of their relationship that had gotten his attention. 

Enjolras whined angrily. “Jehan.”

Jehan pursed his lips. Combeferre didn’t raise his head, but he side-eyed Enjolras as the flustered young radical exhaled, and bluntly insisted: “This isn’t helpful.”

In a whisper, Combeferre asked: “Is he allowed to behave like this?”

Jehan smirked.

Because no -- he wasn’t.

“Enjolras,” Jehan answered. “I told you to _stop talking_.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment -- but he was too annoyed to hold his tongue. “I don’t want to _sit_ here,” he growled.

Jehan pressed a quick kiss to Combeferre’s cheek and tapped his side, implying that he should move. Combeferre quickly pushed himself up to let Jehan slide out from under him.

Once he was free, Jehan got to his feet. Enjolras glared up at him with an irritated scowl.

Jehan pushed his own pyjama pants to the floor. He stepped out of them, scooped them up, and marched over to Enjolras without a sound. Combeferre propped himself up on his elbow to watch -- but Enjolras’s expression didn’t change.

Not even as Jehan grabbed a handful of Enjolras’s hair roughly. “Use your safe word.”

Only then did Enjolras suddenly look _insulted_. If he had wanted to, he would have -- he knew all the codes, verbal _and_ nonverbal.

He said nothing.

After five seconds, Jehan gave him an order. “Open your mouth.”

Enjolras lifted his chin and did as he was told, rounding his lips into an arrogant little ‘o’.

“Wider,” Jehan demanded, tightening his hold in Enjolras’s curls.

A tiny portion of Enjolras’s cockiness melted as he parted his lips even more.

Jehan jerked Enjolras’s head back sharply and shoved his pyjamas into Enjolras’s mouth.

The flowery gag drowned out Enjolras’s sudden yelp. Jehan didn’t release him -- it was an irrefutable reminder that he was still very much in control. Enjolras breathed heavily through his nose, but didn’t try to pull away.

Despite his anger -- despite his immediate displeasure -- a voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had agreed to this. This wasn’t about what he wanted. 

He was irritated -- but sometimes that was the point.

He growled -- he couldn’t help himself -- but he remained very still. 

Combeferre watched silently. He was fascinated by the display. 

Jehan bent forward and pressed his mouth right against Enjolras’s ear as he murmured: “I’m going to do you a favour and pretend none of that happened. “

As he spoke, his free hand slowly slid down Enjolras’s chest. His fingers dragged over the front of Enjolras’s pants, palming him through the thin fabric. Enjolras closed his eyes and bit down on the cloth between his teeth. 

“You’ve been so _good_ until today,” Jehan reminded him as he deliberately teased him. “I wouldn’t want you to ruin your perfect record.”

Jehan bit down on Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras’s head tipped forward as he bit back a groan -- but every subsequent nip and every second Jehan spent curling his deft fingers around Enjolras’s erection made it more than difficult to keep his voice down. 

Suddenly Jehan let him go.

Enjolras looked up sharply, but the little poet had straightened up and stepped back, letting unpleasantly cold air fill the space where he’d been. 

“If you so much as _whine_ \--” Jehan told him, using the tone that never failed to send shivers racing down Enjolras’s spine, “--until I decide that I’m ready for you. I will untie you, and put you outside.”

Enjolras stared at him. 

The fact that they were in _his_ room was irrelevant -- it had no bearing on Jehan’s threat, and they all knew it. Combeferre bit his lip to stifle yet another smile. 

Jehan bounced back into bed with him. 

He was naked. He was aroused. And he was completely unconcerned as he snuggled up to Combeferre -- who quite honestly didn’t seem to mind. 

Enjolras, however, looked furious. He said nothing -- he was utterly silently -- but he shifted angrily and looked down at the floor with the sourest expression. 

“Why are you making him sit out?” Combeferre asked quietly as Jehan sprawled out across his chest. He attentively carded his fingers through Jehan’s hair. 

Jehan could have purred at the touch. “It’s good for him,” the poet explained. “It’s what he wants--” Enjolras angrily ground his teeth into the gag “--and,” Jehan paused to press a kiss to Combeferre’s chest. “I like seeing him struggle.”

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras as he stretched his legs out. He was beginning to understand -- he was starting to piece together what he already knew about the two of them with what he was witnessing. 

He had assumed that giving up control was the sole point of their relationship. Enjolras was always in charge -- he was their leader, and he made most of the significant decisions among their friends. But it was more than that. 

It was about self-control as well. 

“Wouldn’t it be beneficial for him to have to watch, in that case?” Combeferre suggested. 

Enjolras’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look up. 

Jehan stared at Combeferre in surprise. He had no idea where this wickedness was coming from. He hadn’t really thought Combeferre was capable of that kind of thing.

How very, very wrong he was. 

“You tell him,” Jehan murmured, dragging his mouth over the softest part of Combeferre’s neck. 

Combeferre didn’t even flinch. “Enjolras,” he called out quietly. 

Enjolras didn’t lift his head. He didn’t seem to be breathing. The corners of Combeferre’s mouth twitched into a smirk as Jehan nuzzled him.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre repeated. “Look at me.”

It took him longer than Combeferre expected, but Enjolras slowly did as he was told -- meeting Combeferre’s soft grey gaze with his bright, defiant, blue eyes.

But something about the way Combeferre was watching him pulled a heavy weight off his shoulders. He relaxed; he breathed out easily despite the gag in his mouth. He still felt unpleasantly vulnerable, being expected to sit there and watch -- but his instinctive aggression slowly faded away.

“Will you do what I tell you to?” Combeferre asked calmly.

Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When didn’t he? But he nodded very visibly to confirm.

Jehan felt a little surge of excitement.

“Then don’t look away,” Combeferre instructed. “No matter what happens.”

Enjolras didn’t. 

He didn’t avert his eyes at any point, even when his heart hammered against his chest and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. 

He watched in silence as Jehan’s back arched, and his toes curled. He stared -- trying to focus on Jehan digging his teeth into his lip to hold back the most desperate sounds instead of on the fucking miserable way his pants were clinging to him. And then Jehan would hiss happily as Combeferre rebuked him with gentle bites, and Enjolras was _positive_ he was going to fail. 

He might have, if not for the gag in his mouth. 

After a while, Jehan curled up against Combeferre and asked: “Would you shag me?”

Combeferre was quiet for a moment -- but he softly answered: “No.”

Jehan didn’t seem upset in the slightest. “What about Enjolras?”

Enjolras seemed to choke. 

Combeferre gave a little huff of laughter. “I’d... consider it.”

Jehan beamed and nuzzled him affectionately before straightening up. “I _suppose_ I can let him join in now.”

Enjolras glared -- genuinely glared, in that terrifying way he had that made so many of their friends back away slowly. 

Jehan only smirked. 

The primary reason that their dynamic worked was because Jehan, unlike everyone else (except, perhaps, for Combeferre), was not afraid of him -- not in the slightest. 

He rolled out of Enjolras’s bed and padded over to where Enjolras was kneeling. 

Combeferre sat up and followed him. 

Jehan almost lovingly kissed Enjolras on the forehead as he gently tugged his own pants out of Enjolras’s mouth and dropped them. “Well done,” he whispered. 

Enjolras didn’t reply -- he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, for one, and he didn’t want to press his luck. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, stretching his jaw. Frankly, he was happy to be able to breathe easily again. 

But Combeferre stopped beside him, and Enjolras felt his heart start racing. 

Combeferre was the one who’d instructed him to watch. 

Combeferre was the one responsible for most of his current discomfort. 

He didn’t feel betrayed -- but he felt an overwhelming _need_ to return the fucking favour.

Combeferre chuckled -- completely oblivious to the insolent feelings coursing through his best friend as he gently brushed his hand over Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras tipped into him, leaning against his leg as Jehan finally untied his hands. 

“I’m impressed,” Combeferre murmured as Jehan stood up. 

Enjolras held back a smirk. 

He pressed a kiss to Combeferre’s leg. Combeferre hardly noticed -- he’d switched his attention back to Jehan. 

Enjolras shifted several inches to the left.

For the first time all evening, Combeferre groaned. 

He tensed, digging his fingers into Enjolras’s hair as Enjolras mouthed at him through the too-thin fabric of his boxers. Enjolras breathed out, grinning viciously as the rush of warm air suddenly made Combeferre hard under his tongue. 

Jehan had covered his mouth with both hands in shock. 

Combeferre’s hand tightened in Enjolras’s hair. He very slowly pulled Enjolras’s head back as he looked down. 

His voice was sinfully deep when he murmured: “You’re going to regret that.”

He leaned down, hooked his free hand under Enjolras’s arm and hauled him to his feet. Jehan stepped back -- and wisely, because Combeferre shoved Enjolras in the direction of his desk without a word. Enjolras’s hip connected with it just as he twisted to look back at Combeferre. 

His heart was pounding. Jehan’s heart was pounding. 

Combeferre seemed impassive. 

“Stand next to it,” Combeferre instructed, scooping up a stack of books and dumping them on the chair to get them out of the way. 

Enjolras slowly moved around the edge of the desk. He was fairly certain he knew what was about to happen, but it was a night of surprises -- what was the point in making assumptions when there was such a good chance of Combeferre completely shocking him?

In the end, that was a smart choice.

Combeferre reached across the length of the desk, grabbed Enjolras by the wrists and yanked him down.

Enjolras hit the top of the desk with a heavy thud. Jehan actually winced at the sound.

“Jehan,” Combeferre murmured calmly. “Your turn.”

As shocking as Combeferre’s sudden lack of mercy was, the little poet nearly pranced over to Enjolras. He slid his hands over Enjolras’s back appreciatively, letting his fingers caress the dips of Enjolras’s ribs. Combeferre didn’t look up from Enjolras’s face.

“At your leisure,” he added, still speaking to Jehan.

Enjolras bit his lip and pressed his cheek against the cold, wooden surface of the desk.

Combeferre might have been holding him down, but Jehan was sweetly kissing the space between his shoulder blades, moving down his spine as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of Enjolras’s pyjama pants to push them down around his ankles. His tenderness seemed kind, but it wasn’t helpful -- Enjolras felt compelled to grind against the side of his own desk for relief. Still, it was an arousing contrast to the way Combeferre’s fingers were digging in to Enjolras’s wrists.

Leisure was an understatement. 

Jehan leaned over him, tugging open the middle desk drawer in search of the lube that Enjolras kept ‘hidden’ there. As he pulled back, he kissed him again, and again -- enjoying the way the muscles of Enjolras’s back seemed to tense under the slightest touch.

He traced Enjolras’s spine with his tongue as he slid a finger into him. Enjolras groaned and automatically tried to lean back into him -- but he couldn’t. 

Combeferre smirked and held him even tighter. 

Jehan teased him, moving his hand almost too slowly. Enjolras’s hip bones were flat against his desk. He had absolutely nowhere to move and the result was _torturous_. 

But eventually Jehan pressed a second finger into him. The urgency of Enjolras’s subsequent whine made him grin. He actually giggled as Enjolras tried in vain to arch his back. 

A third finger joined the first two as Jehan adoringly kissed him again -- but he couldn’t help himself. The little poet hooked his fingers slightly -- Enjolras immediately bit down on his lip and pressed his face against the desk, breathing out in a loud, agitated rush. His toes dug into the carpet. He was absolutely going to have bruises on his hips come morning -- that was, if he survived what his so-called friends were doing to him. 

Jehan pulled his hand away just as Enjolras was struggling to breathe. 

It was a respite that didn’t last. 

Enjolras let out a low, shaky moan as Jehan slid into him. 

Jehan’s mouth opened slightly as he started to roll his hips. It may have been torture for Enjolras, but it was heavenly for him. He whispered Enjolras’s name as he moved -- as he leaned into Enjolras and dug his fingers into Enjolras’s sides and kissed him and bit him and made him swear _obscenely_ at the heat rushing through him. 

Enjolras gasped and tried to dig his fingers into the top of the desk as Jehan quickly rocked into him again and again and again. Combeferre wouldn’t let him go -- wouldn’t let him curl up, or even cling to anything. Combeferre was watching him like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t rolling his hips into the desk any harder than he needed to.

This was about punishment. Enjolras was aware of that.

He wasn’t handling it well -- but he was aware of it.

But then Combeferre gave his hand a little tug. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras looked up -- his eyes were glassy, and sweat was beading across his forehead. Jehan nipped his shoulder blade at almost the same time, making him whine.

When his eyes met Combeferre’s, his friend calmly instructed him : “Ask Jehan to fuck you more slowly.”

Enjolras’s breath hitched in his chest. Jehan moaned quietly behind him and scraped his fingers down Enjolras’s side. The very command -- hearing Combeferre of all people say ‘fuck’ so deliberately -- made them both feel _helpless_.

But slowing down was the last thing Enjolras wanted. He was already holding back a slew of sounds he didn’t often make. He was fairly certain that he physically couldn’t endure what they were putting him through much longer -- and frankly, he didn’t think he should fucking have to.

“I won’t tell you twice,” Combeferre said softly.

Enjolras grunted. He took several deep breaths -- Jehan’s pacing hadn’t changed. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Enjolras stubbornly bit his lip.

Combeferre could read the obstinance in Enjolras’s face through the overwhelming lust. He spoke again, in the same, gentle but achingly deep tone. “Pride can be a good thing--” He looked away for a moment. “But is that what you really you want to be proud of?”

Enjolras closed his eyes tightly.

Every muscle in his body wanted to hate Combeferre in that moment.

After a solid minute, he pressed his forehead against the table and rasped: “Jehan.” He choked on his own words at first -- but eventually he said: “I want you to-- to slow down.”

Jehan pressed his lips against Enjolras’s skin and whispered: “If that’s what you want.”

He slowed the rhythm of his hips to a steady, smooth thrust. Enjolras clenched his jaw as hard as he possibly could and kept his head tucked down.

Jehan looked up at Combeferre -- he’d never pushed Enjolras this far before. When it was the two of them, he’d never needed to. He’d never had a reason to.

And honestly, he didn’t know Enjolras like Combeferre did.

But Combeferre was utterly in control of the situation. He’d never taken his hands away from Enjolras’s wrists. Once Enjolras had put his head down, Combeferre hadn’t looked away from him.

Jehan put every ounce of faith he had in Combeferre to guide them both.

He pressed what should have been soothing kisses to Enjolras’s back. But soothing kisses turned to soft nibbles and teeth scraping over skin as his own lust took over.

Enjolras’s hands had curled into fists.

Jehan bit down lightly, but kept the same slow, burning pace.

Enjolras’s shoulders started to shake.

It took _seconds_ for him to break after that. He inhaled sharply and and very suddenly whimpered -- vocally _whimpered_ , and panted as he begged Combeferre. “Please-- _fuck_. Combeferre, please. _Please_. Please--” He cried out loudly again, but Combeferre was ahead of him.

“Go ahead, Jehan,” he murmured, leaning in as close to Enjolras as he could. He let go of one hand -- but only one -- so that he could lift Enjolras’s chin up and kiss him deeply. The other held on just as tightly as before.

Enjolras had twisted his arm so he could clutch Combeferre’s wrist. His knuckles were white he was holding on so tightly.

Jehan slid his hand around Enjolras’s hip, grabbing him with deft fingers as Enjolras _mewled_ against Combeferre’s mouth. Combeferre kissed him hard.

Enjolras pushed his free hand into Combeferre’s hair and melted into him.

It was safe to say he’d never kissed his best friend like that before.

Honestly, Combeferre couldn’t recall _anyone_ having kissed him like that -- he could taste fire on Enjolras’s lips. He could feel every ounce of desperation in the tremor of Enjolras’s voice as Enjolras continued to whine.

Jehan pressed his face against Enjolras’s back as he rocked his hips harder and harder. The _sounds_ Enjolras was making -- he was having trouble _breathing_ because of those noises. He didn’t want any of it to end, but he was positive he was going to asphyxiate if it didn’t. He gripped Enjolras tighter, stroking him deliberately and quickly until he felt that familiar tug in his hand. Enjolras moaned; Combeferre drank the sound down and leaned forward even more, kissing Enjolras with endlessly reassuring affection.

Jehan found his release a moment later, and practically purred.

If Enjolras hadn’t been stretched across the desk, he would have dropped straight to the floor -- again.

He was breathing heavily, but for the first time in a very long time, he felt completely, utterly loose.

Combeferre kept his hand on Enjolras’s jaw, gently brushing his fingers over his best friend’s cheek as he peppered him with kisses again and again. Jehan snuggled against him, grinning with a satisfied, smug sort of fondness.

Enjolras kept his eyes closed and just let them caress him. Honestly, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop them -- but he didn’t want to, either. He felt _exhausted_ , and their kindness was genuinely comforting. Eventually Combeferre straightened up. Jehan moved to the side and gave Enjolras a little tug, trying to encourage him to stand up.

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t move.

He was perfectly content to go to sleep right there, actually.

Combeferre and Jehan both smiled.

But Combeferre pulled him up carefully and with Jehan’s help managed to coax him over to his own bed, where the three of them somehow managed to find the space to lie down. Combeferre wrapped his arm around Enjolras’s waist and held him tight. Jehan curled up against his chest. Enjolras draped an arm across Jehan and buried his face in the poet’s hair.

Enjolras was unconscious within minutes.

***

“WHERE THE FUCK IS ENJOLRAS?” Courfeyrac demanded, slamming the front door. Bossuet jumped -- and accidentally stepped Feuilly’s foot as he tripped backwards.

Combeferre calmly turned the page of his newspaper. “He’s sleeping.”

“HE’S BEEN ASLEEP FOR TWO DAYS. I’VE HAD TO--” Bahorel shoved a muffin in Courfeyrac’s mouth as he walked past him, into the living room. Combeferre smiled.

Courfeyrac choked and dropped crumbs everywhere -- but at least he stopped shouting.

“It’s been fifteen hours,” Combeferre explained calmly, after checking his watch.

He and Jehan both peeked into Enjolras’s room every hour or so just to check on him -- but the house’s fearless leader was out cold. Combeferre had tried to wake him up after the first ten, but Enjolras had threatened to guillotine him.

So he’d let the man sleep.

“Enjolras doesn’t sleep for more than seven hours,” Courfeyrac muttered, wiping cinnamon off his face. “And he doesn’t miss meetings. And he doesn’t leave me to deal with--”

“Sometimes he does, actually,” Enjolras retorted as he came downstairs. He was freshly showered, but he’d pulled on clean pyjamas instead of actual clothes.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”

Bahorel flopped down on a couch. “I bet Bossuet twenty euro that you’d gotten arrested again.”

“You owe Bossuet twenty euro,” Enjolras replied. “That you probably don’t have.” Bahorel grinned. He absolutely didn’t.

Courfeyrac pouted. He was still irritated. It was fading quickly, because it was impossible for Courfeyrac to stay angry with anyone for more than fifteen minutes -- but it wasn’t over yet. “Have you seriously been sleeping?”

Enjolras nodded.

“How?”

“Well, I put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes--”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac whined.

Enjolras smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Courf-- how’d it go?”

“...fine.”

“Both meetings?”

Courfeyrac nodded and sat down on top of Bahorel even though there were a dozen empty places.

It was just a Courfeyrac habit.

Enjolras’s stomach rumbled loudly before Courfeyrac could even begin to tell him about it. “Shit,” he muttered, “I’m starving.”

Combeferre smirked. “Want me to make you some pancakes?”

Jehan gave a snort of laughter from the kitchen.

After he inhaled a plate of food generously provided by both Jehan and Feuilly -- and several muffins -- and a candy bar that he blatantly stole from Courfeyrac -- Enjolras tapped Combeferre on the shoulder and pulled him outside.

They went out the front door -- Combeferre said nothing about Enjolras’s pyjamas, because Enjolras clearly didn’t care. There was less chance of them being overheard by their friends if they walked along the street than if they’d stayed in the courtyard that was attached to their house.

“We need to talk,” Enjolras began quietly.

Combeferre chuckled.

Enjolras pursed his lips. “I’m serious.”

“You usually are. I just thought that was a little obvious.”

“Combeferre--” Enjolras didn’t hide his exasperation. “Should we have done that? I was--” Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, unaware of how that only made it stick out at odd angles. “I was prepared for that with Jehan, but not--”

Combeferre was completely calm. “Not with me,” he filled in.

“Exactly. I don’t want to jeopardise our friendship. You mean more to me--”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted, turning to face him. Enjolras stopped walking, and met his gaze head on. “Are you romantically interested in me?”

“No,” Enjolras answered, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Wh-- no!”

Combeferre folded his arms over his chest. “Then how has anything changed?” He asked. “We’ve always been more than friends, and I doubt that’s going to end any time soon.”

Enjolras huffed.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Enjolras very nearly blushed. “Yes. ...more than I usually do.”

Combeferre smiled. “Good. That’s all that matters.”

They turned and slowly walked back in the direction of the house. As Combeferre had said -- the silence between them was just as comfortable as ever. If anything, they felt _more_ at ease for what they’d shared.

After a moment, Enjolras asked: “Do you remember what you said about pride?”

Combeferre nodded. “Yes.”

Enjolras breathed in slowly. “Then I need to talk to you about Grantaire.”


End file.
